In every leaf upon the tree, In every wave upon the sea, In every star that lights the night, In every dawn’s first gentle light.

A thread unseen, yet ever there, A bond that all of life must share, In every breath, in every heart, An endless whole of which we’re part.

From mountains tall to valleys low, From rivers fast to winds that blow, Each soul, each spirit, every being, In nature’s web,
a vast unseeing.

The whispers of the ancient breeze, The secrets of the deepest seas, The songs that every creature sings, All speak of ties, of boundless rings.

In life’s grand dance, a tapestry, Woven with threads of unity, In joy, in sorrow, loss, or gain, We find we’re one, in sun and rain.

So feel the beat of nature’s drum, And know that you and I are one, In this grand scheme, this endless quest, We find our peace, our common rest.

Our destined calm–
rusted wings of the butterfly
and freezing, slow passage of time.
You are the envelope in which lies my heart– a city of myth and ink.
You’re holding the pen.
There are dreamers like me,
for dreams like you.

Is she merely a commodity, – or is she a daring spirit, traversing
the farthest reaches of love? To express to her young – an odyssey!
Often, they would hastily declare that a woman's deeds are common;
but to counter, her core is to weave a painting of sentences adorned
with countless comas.

She…

Is a stormy love, obliterating all that stands against compassion,
wielding a wisdom that is both fierce and gentle, she knows precisely
when to voice her thoughts or to elevate the spirit of a man who may
overlook her brilliance, a celestial body, she requires no stage to
illuminate the world; her radiance persists, unwavering, she is a
lyrical composition, igniting the pages that attempt to confine her
value, she embodies the sweetest of a restless soul, finally finding
solace in her nurturing embrace, she is tranquillity, she is affection,
she is the embodiment of patience, the lessons and warnings of a
discerning gaze – she is… a Woman.

She is art
Intricate and Divine
An art piece even the greatest painters could never perfect to recreate
Her appearance, her body, her eyes, her soul
Her skin catching the sunlight, glowing in an ethereal light
Spellbound by the sight of her luminous eyes
She is so distinctive as if in a monotonous field full of roses she blossoms into her natural beauty like a Calla Lily
Her smile radiates comfort
The very beings blessing us to even let us gaze at someone so breathtaking
That is art
She is art

The beauty of art

and the world does not exist --


if you reject it.

I never think of life
As a wet on dry watercolor painting
Because its more similar
To wet on wet
You put a dash of color
Joy
Emotion
And it spreads
Like a virus
But a good one
Life isnt realism.
Life is abstract.
So treat it like that.
Imperfect
But in the end?
Beautiful.

I hide my pretty words
inside a shell.
Safe and far away from
prying eyes –
thoughts and desires, carefully constructed
to never see the light of day, never feel
the warmth of human connection.

For this is all too raw,
too fragile.
Words painfully crafted –
containing the chaos inside.

If people only knew,
what I was hiding,
I’d have to tear open my body,
remove the pearl
for all to see.
My flesh exposed – consumed,
my core, paraded around necks.

And I’d be tossed away
into the waters of my suffering,
to create more precious gems.

At the end, when I am too tired for it all,
clutched by the fingers of grief,
all that shall be left of me –
a shell, forced to adorn
the walls of strangers’ homes.

Just as so many mother of pearls,
who’ve came before me.